The Last of the Letters
by FabulousiTyxXx
Summary: This is the last love letter Bella Swan will ever write and it's full of hateful sentiments. Eddie was one of her best friends since early childhood; their love was inevitable. He's an addict. She's addicted to him. Hope is her poison. Her love is his salvation. Real life is never a Fairy Tale.
1. Prologue: Dear Eddie

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Twilight_, Stephenie Meyers does. I however, own this Eddie and Bella, this story, and the things that inspired it.

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**A/N: Welcome. This story is already written in full. It's short. It's not a Fairy Tale romance. **

**I will be posting a chapter a day for the next week.**

**Enjoy!**

**This Fic is dedicated to Jimmy G. my own Eddie of sorts...**

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Prologue: Dear Eddie

Dear Eddie,

You were the first boy I ever loved, my first kiss, and one of my first friends, and I cannot believe that I am writing this letter to you… you've left me no choice. I never imagined that I'd ever have to say goodbye to you again, but that's why I am writing this: to tell you goodbye. You cannot imagine the heartbreak I feel over you and am so, so angry.

I am trying to make peace with you, Edward, and I need you to let me try. I can picture you laughing at this, calling me a silly, sentimental emotional girl… But even you have to admit, our childhood together? Pretty perfect. Until you left. Then, everything went to shit.


	2. Chapter 1: Mud Hills and Marriages

**A/N: Here is the first full chapter. **

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Chapter 1: Mud Hills and Marriages

The first time I ever saw you Eddie, even though I was barely three years old, I loved you in an instant. You were the first boy I ever met that I wasn't related to, and I fell for you. Hard. Your golden-streaked auburn hair caught flecks of the sun, and the deep verdant green of your eyes sparkled with life. You were… happiness personified. Your mother was taking you for a walk around The Block—she shared the same hue of your hair—just as my mom was letting me help her get the mail. It was fate.

You introduced yourself like a gentleman, eyeing your mom (it was she you were trying to impress with your manners—not me), you stuck out your warm hand. You said, "Hi! I'm Edward Anthony Carlisle Cullen the third—but no one calls me that. They call me Eddie. Edward is an old man's name, blech!" We had the giggle fits. I told you my name was Isabella Marie Swan, but you could call me Bella… and you said you liked that better too. Our moms chatted easily while we took turns racing back and forth from the mailbox to the garage. I was determined to prove to you I was just as good as boys.

I found out that you lived across the street from me! Kitty-corner! I was definitely going to make you my boyfriend. You thought girls were gross, but I was ok because I was your new Bella. Playdates arranged, dinner parties planned, I wouldn't know how truly momentous that moment would be for me until years later.

In our developing neighborhood, we were some of the first families on The Block, and we ruled it like the Princes and Princesses we were. Remember that huge dirt hill next to Alice's house around the corner? We conquered that hill and claimed it our land so many times. It was there that I first kissed you. Playing Chase with Emmett and Alice, like we had every day before, I was chasing you. This time, instead of tagging you It, I had a different goal in mind. I kissed you so fast you didn't know what had happened until the crimson blush crept over your cheeks. You pushed me down and I cried. You couldn't handle my tears and hugged me close, close, close, immediately regretting your actions. That was my first taste of your impulsive nature. Emmett laughed and made fun of you for kissing a girl, but you told him to "shut-it".

The next day the neighborhood crew was playing at the dirt hill again; instead of Chase we played Cops and Robbers. Emmett was making fun of my orange and red dress—that my mom made me wear shorts under—saying I was a stupid girl for wearing a dress and jellie-shoes while playing Cops and Robbers, even though Alice was wearing the same one in purple and blue. He threw dirt at me, and I cried, so you threw dirt at him. Soon, everyone was throwing dirt and laughing. You did things like that: make me laugh when I was crying, pick me up when I fell down, and make sure I knew I was special because you were special and we were bestest friends so I must be special too. You were such a sweet, sweet boy Eddie. Everyone who knew you loved you and I was no different.

I remember sunny summer days spent making whirl-pools in your pool, and playing with the diving sticks. We spent dusk searching for tadpoles in the pond by the park, and twilight playing kickball in my backyard until the streetlights came on. Your house always sounded like smooth Jazz—your mom's favorite radio station—and booming laughs from your dad. I knew you would grow up to have the same infectious sound, and you did. We played SuperMario in your room—but always with the door open. We made plans about the future, what it would be like when we were grown-ups. I said we had to have a pool, but no smooth jazz, and you said OK, as long as we could still play SuperMario.

Eddie, I've lost count of the number of times we got married in my backyard, but it's safe to say that I am your first wife, and your only. Your dad, the Pilot who liked to be called Carlisle—I guess you were both non-conforming… why he named you the Third, I'll never understand—would take us up in his small plane. The swirly-twirly butterflies I got while looking down at the ground perfectly matched the way I felt when I looked at your perfect smile, even if you did smile lop-sided sometimes.

Remember my sixth birthday party? We had it at FunWay and got to dress up in the theater room. You were a Cowboy and I was a Fairy, which summed up our entire childhood together. You were the tough-but-sweet gentleman, and I was the dreamer always hoping for the best. We could have been great.

My favorite Halloween was the one where you were the Red Power Ranger and I was the Pink. We were the perfect duo. Alice was Yellow because I cried and made her. She understood my love for you. Emmett was the Green Ranger…Eddie, you probably didn't know this, but I _hated_ Emmett growing up. You were the only thing I liked about him. He was a chubby little bully, and you were his most redeeming quality. (I eventually got my vicarious revenge on him when he and Alice were playing Elephant Trainer and she sat on him like she was on a horse, not letting him leave the front yard, and he peed his pants.) Even with hangers-on like Emmett, our childhood was magical. We had sleepovers and parties, bonfires and snow igloos, and most importantly we had each other.

I found the picture of us playing in the neighbor's mud pit from when we were five the other day, we were covered from head to toe in the thick brown stuff with arms spread as wide as our twin smiles as if we were saying "look what we did mom!" I cried for hours. I miss you so much Eddie. I miss who you used to be, that sweet, smart boy. It kills me that you'll never be _him_ again. I almost hate you for it.

What is the old saying, all good things must come to an end? End they did after second grade. Your parents told us that your family was moving to Virginia at the end of the summer. I hated them for it. We didn't know it at the time, but it was that move that ruined the rest of your life, sending you down a path that was almost impossible to come back from.

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**A/N: So what are we thinking, pals?**

**Let me know. **

**Until tomorrow...**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	3. Chapter 2: AOL and Bonfires

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Twilight_. SM does. I own this Eddie and Bella though... yea!

**Welcome, Welcome, Welcome!**

**As promised, here is chapter 2!**

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Chapter 2: AOL and Bonfires

We wrote letters to stay in touch, back and forth as quickly as our thick-block-writing could manage. You were nervous about making friends, and I couldn't possibly imagine starting third grade without you. That's when we learned cursive and Spanish, and move into the third-grade pod! We managed, though I never understood why you thought you wouldn't make new friends: everyone has always been drawn to you. Even now, you have a magnetism about you.

It was an entire year—a year!—before your parents brought you back for a visit. You told me I had more freckles on my nose, and I noticed your hair was a little lighter. Still, we played as if no time had passed. We tried writing more letters, but it was hard. Your parents made you take piano and play baseball in the spring and you skied in every free moment you had. I had gymnastics and dance and any other activity that my parents would let me try for a while and then move onto the next. We were both making new and more friends. The letters became fewer. We started to grow up, which brought new challenges.

Once we both got our very own AOL accounts in fifth grade, we reconnected again. The self-esteem you built up for me during our childhood was shattered for me by the bullies in Middle School. I wanted to tell you, you were the only one I could. Alice wouldn't get it, she was tiny and pretty and perfect, but you, Eddie… you were my safe place. Alice was also still my best friend, but Eddie you were part of my soul. Heading into our teen years, your parents moved your family to Michigan for two years—two states away—and then all the way to Alaska. I missed you so much, I hope you know.

Your parents brought your family for a visit a few more times, with your little sister Elizabeth too. In middle school, you were still the sweet, sweet boy that smiled like sunshine and laughed like happiness. There was a new edge; sure, we all had an edge: that's what puberty was for. You had shot up, becoming part of the tall man you were meant to become. You teased me for being so much shorter than you, but I liked it.

At your newest school, you joined football. You became like every other meat-head. You stopped talking to the likes of me to an almost non-existent stream of communication. To an extent, we were both busy joining clubs, sports, activities, trying to fit in, thinking about what we would possibly want to do after high school. But you… you changed. I still harbored those long-felt pangs of love for you, but I buried them deep inside. You visited when we were sixteen and only your eyes and uniquely warm shade of hair resembled any bit of who you used to be. Gone was the sunny, sweet boy. In his place was a snarky, hot-shit teenaged boy who thought the sun shone out his ass. I still sort of loved you—how could I not? To me, you were still sneaking-in-your-room at night during co-ed sleepovers, and my five-time husband. You were my mud-buddy and Cowboy. But you really weren't any of those things anymore.

It wasn't until we met again in our twenties—when you told me—that I knew that you were drinking then. My heart broke for you Eddie. You said you were partying every weekend. I asked you why. You said partying was the quickest way to make friends. Every new school you attended, you had to find the quickest way in… and that was through drugs and alcohol. By the time you were nineteen, you went to rehab for the first time. You didn't tell me that, either, for a few years. I was in college, studying to become a psychologist, and you had dropped out and were in rehab, fighting an addiction to alcohol and weed.

I should have known, Eddie. I should have done something. I should have been there for you. But I wasn't. You wouldn't let me. You shut everyone out… yea, you got clean for about a year or two. The summer after my sophomore year in college, I was home with my parents and you were spending the summer with Emmett.

Admittedly it was awkward being around each other at first. The adventures we had once shared together survived in memory, but we had both lived very separate and twisted lives since then. It took a few tries before we finally got it right. You had already started drinking again, but seemingly had it under control, forsaking anything harder than beer... for a while. It was almost impressive, and I was so, too naïve to think that.

That summer we shared together—Eddie it was too good to be true. That first night you were in town, I had just driven in from downtown, having been visiting friends in Chicago for the weekend. Emmett held a bonfire in your honor, inviting the entire old neighborhood crew and his more recent friends. I came late, still a little hung-over from the night before so the proffered whiskey from Emmett was welcomed with enthusiasm as I hoped it would quell the headache. I didn't see you in the shadows through the flames at first, but I did see the burning glow of the lit cigarette in your lips and the lazy exhale of the smoke. I went around the crowd, offering my hellos and hugs and somehow made my way to you. Remember how we stared at each other at first, unsure of how to act? I stared at you like a confused child and you merely quirked up the corner of your mouth at me before shaking your head, rising to your feet and wrapping your arms around me tight. I felt the same old hum through my veins that I always felt with you.

You released me and we looked at each other again with fresh eyes and open hearts. I ran my fingers through your golden ruddy locks and told you that I liked it long. You poked my nose and told me you liked the piercing. I blushed. You kissed my cheek and told me you missed me, and I fell again irrevocably into the ocean of you. Eddie, this is so hard, the remembering. I miss you so badly, but I know I have to say goodbye. You've given me no choice. You're the one that… This is your fault.

Anyways, when Peter interrupted I was equal parts glad for the interlude from my falling and equal parts annoyed that I now had to share you. Things got awkward that night. You got drunk off beer, and I off whiskey. You walked me home around the corner and kissed me again on the cheek at my parent's door. I turned to fumble with the key in the lock when you spun me back around, this time giving me the kiss we had always deserved but never got. It sent the hum in my veins into a full, encompassing vibration, singing me alive. It was more intoxicating than the whiskey swirling in my stomach. It was my drug, and I was hooked. How ironic.

You close-whispered that I should invite you in. I laughed, and told you to call me. I shut the door in your face and have never regretted it since. You always said that was the moment you knew you had to have me, you needed me. Once the door had slammed, it was like the clicking of a key in a lock and out poured the love for me you had been keeping secretly wrapped tight over the years. You walked around the neighborhood all night until it was late enough in the morning to call me. You called three times before I answered, worse off than the day before. We spent the day in my dark, cold basement watching Breaking Bad. I slept on and off and you stroked my hair while I laid my head on your lap. You gave me scalp massages and reminded me of the sweet, little boy I once knew. There were worse ways to spend a summer Monday hung-over.

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**A/N: So, what are we thinking?**

**Tomorrow, Chapter 3 will be posted. There are eight chapters total in this story, by the by.**

**Thanks for reading! As always, please review!**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	4. Chapter 3: Bloody Mary's and Goodbyes

**Disclaimer: **the usual _Twilight_/ SM stuff.

**Hello again. I present: chapter 3!**

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Chapter 3: Bloody Mary's and Goodbyes

Nearly twenty-one, you no longer resembled the all-American football star golden-boy with a drinking problem you had seemed the last time we saw each other. No, you weren't the bulked out, self-concerned popular boy, but you did seem a little lost. You were leaner, and bits of the old you started to peak through your self-induced cracks like glitter. Small, but bright. We were still _us_ together, though: Eddie and Bella. The same way since childhood. You were ghetto-gangster rap and I was indie-alternative rock, but we made it work. This time, however, we both knew we were heading into something together much bigger than either one of us even knew how to deal with.

I didn't see you after that for a week. Emmett took you on a camping trip and I spent more time with my college friends and Alice on the beaches of Lake Michigan. It felt like an eternity. You showed up on my parent's doorstep with a six-pack of Boulevard Wheat and a purple calla lily. Both of my favorites. How you knew, I'll never know...maybe I underestimated you. It was a balmy night, so we took our beers out back to the hammock and swung for hours, revealing secrets and baring our souls. We finally got it right. Through all my twisted tales of trauma of my early college experiences, you held my hand and made me feel safe. I listened as you revealed for the first time about your first stint in rehab as well as the events leading up to it.

I became enraged with your parents. I knew they were good people—Carlisle and Esme were lovely, wonderfully caring parents—but they put their pilot careers before yours and Elizabeth's happiness. Eddie, you were raised to be such a truly good person and the drugs and alcohol got in the way. You told me, for the first time, how lonely you really were, moving from place to place being uprooted from everyone and everything you had grown to care for. You said you understood that they needed to take these amazing opportunities, and as pilots it was necessary to relocate to wherever the government demanded, but you still harbored anger toward them. You told me that you thought a lot about our charmed childhood, and you started to resent your parents for taking away your stability. I couldn't blame you, but my heart broke for you and your family.

You found ways to fit in fast. The cool kids were always the ones living on the edge, recklessly. You were always a magnet to others, drawing people in. The only way to keep the attention was to party right alongside them. You drank for the first time at thirteen—just a few months after you visited me and the rest of the old neighborhood. My stomach dropped as I listened to you recall the increased consumption over the years. By seventeen, you were already bored with bud and booze and dropped acid for the first time. It wasn't your favorite, but you enjoyed the release from reality it provided. Molly was more your style, and you found rolling with her fun, but she didn't quite become your mistress. You dabbled, but always maintained your affair with Mary-Jane and alcohol. They were your comfort zone, the only friends that moved when you moved, and filled the loneliest places inside—if only for the short time the highs lasted. Somewhere in the mix, all the girls fit in there. I didn't ask, and you didn't tell, but I knew better than to assume otherwise. At least I was smart enough for that.

You graduated from high school, but not from your pals. You only made it a year in school, studying aviation to become a pilot yourself—how poetic. Eddie, you were so smart and it was such a waste. The daily partying and skipping class caught up with you and you decided school was no longer your style. Your parents decided rehab was. You cleaned up, gave it a shot. What else did you have to lose? Eddie, you were salvageable then. You stopped drinking for about a year and a half, so you told me. Then, you only drank beer as your twenty-first birthday was fast approaching next month in July. You thought you had control, and I thought that commendable. We were so stupid to think that, but I loved you and you were an addict. Love is blinding. That brought us up to the night in the hammock. Finally, we were together again, time and space, past and present.

We were young, but both broken down by the things that happened to us in our short lives. You were a lost, lonely soul that sought comfort in chemicals because you saw no other way out of it. I was a beaten, bruised, and shaking girl, abused and trying to pretend I was OK. But I wasn't ok, and neither were you. We loved so deeply that summer. We fed off each other's darkness for a while, but also healed our deepest wounds. We gave each other love and light.

You introduced me to dirty-chai lattes and I introduced to a better brand of cigarettes. Remember how I used to smoke back then? What an idiot. We took up hobbies like going for walks and adventuring—you know, things other than sex and partying, but we did a lot of those too. I made you come to the library with me, and you indulged my love of literature—partaking in a few books yourself. You liked Poe; his short stories held your ADD attention with their dark and twisted tales. You could relate to his alcoholic nature too, I'm sure. Movies were another form of escape and we saw them frequently. Though, strapped for cash we usually paid for the first and snuck into the second. Two-for-ones. You made me a delinquent and I relished in the adrenaline rush.

One morning we woke up tangled in my bed sheets with whiskey breath and sex-hair—my parents were out of town with the rest of my siblings, I hung back to be with you—and everything changed. I happened a glance at the calendar and I knew our love-bubble over the summer was about to burst. It was the first week of August, and I was going back to college in a week and a half. Your time with Emmett was coming to an end. Although I loved your tattooed chest holding me close, I was suffocating in its liquid warmth, and I rolled way from your over-heated embrace. The fan was on the highest setting, but even that couldn't cool me. I shook you awake, needing to talk about what we were to do from here. It was stiflingly hot. I told you …

Oh, Eddie! It's so hard to remember the ending of that summer… it physically hurts me now as I write this. I wish we could get it back. I wish I could change—so badly—what happened. But I can't, you made your choices, and now I must make mine. I have to do this; I have to write this goodbye letter to you. I need to.

I told you that I had to head back to school soon, and asked what we were going to do. Your hands were shaking, coming off the alcohol from the night before. I made you a bloody Mary—hoping to keep your DTs at bay—before I suggested you enroll, or find a job in the city and we could be together. You rolled your eyes, muttered something about the evils of organized education. You were drifting, and had taken temporary anchor over the summer with me… but even I started to drift along with you. I hadn't seen Alice in two weeks or had many days or nights sober. I was enabling you with bloody Mary mornings and whiskey nights. I knew it would only be a matter of time before things got worse if we didn't have a plan, a goal, or a target for our future. I was certain that mine held you in it, and wouldn't settle for anything less. I could save you from yourself, or so I was sure. I was, after all, studying psychology.

"Come with me to Colorado," you had pleaded instead, heading outside for a cigarette.

"Eddie, you know I only have two years left… we can move to Colorado when I go to Grad School." I suggested.

"Bella," you exhaled with smoke, pausing to light the smoke in my mouth, "Baby, I know you have your heart set on that, but I just can't …do the thing. My heart belongs in Colorado."

What you meant by do the thing was that you couldn't settle down. What I didn't know then was that you meant that you were subconsciously planning a slip. What you were heading toward, you didn't want to be stopped. I told you that I had plans, dreams, and goals. You told me that you were so, so proud of me, but you couldn't come with me. I told you that I loved, loved, loved you but I couldn't go with you. I needed to finish school. I needed a course-correction almost as badly as you did. We were good together, but clearly we needed to face our demons—exorcise them—before we could be good _for_ each other. I told you that. You laughed. Did you hear my heart shatter with your laughter? Gone were the dirt hills we ruled, but you were still the King of breaking things, Eddie.

My soundless tears bathed my face in shame and letting go. You lost all bravado, shoulders slumped, and I knew your heart was breaking alongside mine. You just didn't have the courage to say so. I tapped out my cigarette in the ashtray; it had long ago stopped providing any comfort. I stared at you, my chocolate eyes full of questions and pleas unanswered. You flicked your cigarette into the grass, your eyes matching its hue and full of unspoken emotions.

"Bella I can't." You had said, shrugging, without any emotion in your voice. You smiled at me, and it didn't touch your eyes. I nodded, swallowing back a sob that threatened to rip my chest in half. "I love you."

"I know," I admitted. You always had.

"I will love you until the day I die."

"Eddie, I can't throw away my future on ski-instructing and selling pot in the Rockies." I knew it'd cut you, but I needed to make a point. I needed to exert my strength. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I wish I was stronger, then, and forced you into treatment again.

You took it in stride, crushing me with a kiss—the last kiss of the summer—before you walked away, ignoring my pleas, tears, and screams of your name. You had gone back to Emmett's, lit a joint, and smoked out with your oldest buddy. The next day you drove to your parent's new house in a northern Chicago suburb to collect your things and flew to Breckinridge.

I walked to Alice's and cried over you for the remainder of my time in the suburbs. Alice and I moved back to school in the city. I changed my minor to chemistry. I no longer wanted to go to graduate school to simply get my Ph.D. in clinical psychology. I wanted to go to medical school to become a psychiatrist and work with addictions.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! Please, do tell me what you think? **

**Chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow. See ya then!**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	5. Chapter 4: Heroin and Heartbreak

**Hello there. As promised, chapter 4!**

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Chapter 4: Heroin and Heartbreak

A week into school, two and a half weeks after you left me, I came back from organic chemistry to find a long message from you on Facebook—reminiscent of our old letters from childhood. You said that leaving me was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but you knew it was best for me. You missed me with every breath and loved me with every heartbeat. You thanked me for a beautiful summer and for showing you what being loved and cared for could do for a wrecked soul. You hinted that we would be together again when the timing was right. I was silly enough to believe you. After all, you were right, mostly. You waxed poetic on how much soul-searching you needed to do and again on how proud of me you were. You told me about the one-bedroom you had moved into and the invigorating smell of the pine trees. I was almost happy for you.

I wrote back immediately, but couldn't bring myself to send the message until the next day. Alice had to help me press _send_. I thanked you for your message and told you how much I missed you. I told you about the addition of my minor, but not why. I wished you the best and forgave you for leaving; after all I left you just as much as you left me. My words didn't flow to me as easily as yours did to you. I still felt so raw, so shattered. Eddie, it was as if someone had poured liquid fiery, white hot pain down my throat, and it consumed and burned me from the inside out. How could I tell you that you—the one who restored my faith in men and people in general—once again crushed it? Then, halfway through writing the message I realized that you were the one that was sick, you needed help. Eventually, I would make you take responsibility for your actions, but right then I couldn't afford to be sucked into your overpowering darkness, for surely you were about to be completely consumed by it yourself.

I released you, then. I saw that what you did for me was the most selfless act you had ever committed. You freed me from your tether and the sinking ship to which you had attached yourself: your addiction. I closed my message with my love and echoed your hopes of the future. I closed my heart to you, for the time being, but not fully. Releasing you gave me the detachment I needed to focus on school. I became consumed with preparations for medical school. I was determined to succeed and not make our sacrifice fruitless.

I didn't know at the time, but about three weeks after I replied to your message, you tried heroin for the first time. In her, you found your partner, your other part of your soul—the part you hadn't given to me. She was your mistress. She was your salvation. She was your demise.

I hate her.

We didn't talk again for a few months, both trying to heal. I saw a therapist, she helped me deal with my past issues and helped me see you clearly, see myself clearly. Forgive you. Forgive me. I was oblivious to the new life you began to lead. Endless cycles of shooting up, sleeping, rolling, and losing yourself. Your darkness consumed. You hit your lowest. I wish I had been there Eddie, I wish I could have helped you, not that you would have let me.

After you got control of your cycles, and was able to function in everyday life, you reached out to me again. You called and we talked. We talked often and love started to beat its heart again, and it didn't feel a thing like falling. You sounded better, almost happy. Every day that you got to hit the slopes was an almost perfect day, except for the constant missing me. Eventually you wore me down and I promised to spend the summer in Colorado with you. You wanted to show me what I had to look forward to when I finished school.

With only one year of undergraduate and filling out medical school applications ahead of me, the MCATs taken, and finals behind me, I boarded the plane to Breckinridge. I had no knowledge of your mistress, and you were determined to hide her from me. You knew I would object—you would be right.

You picked me up at the airport and the moment I saw you, I kid-you-fucking-not Eddie, you had a halo of light around you. You're probably laughing at that, but it's true. Yea, it was probably just an effect of the florescent overheads, but I saw what I saw. You were an angel calling me home to heaven. I felt at home in your so-strong arms. When I took a step back to drink you in, I saw what my heart had initially blinded me to. You were gaunt, so thin. Sallow skin replaced the healthy glow you used to have. Your pupils were dilated and your luminescent hair was now dull and too shaggy long. You thought I was crying because I was so happy to finally be with you again, but I was really crying for you. Your bitch of a mistress was ruining you.

Initially, I didn't know what to attribute your abrupt change in physical appearance to, and my mind for the sake of my heart was unable to see the truth at first. It took exactly two weeks before I knew, before I found your needles; before I found you shooting up the junk in your arm; before I saw that what I assumed was bug-bites, a fucking joke, were track marks. As if it were even possible to have further broken over you, my heart stopped beating all-together, giving up on even breaking at all. I suffered my first panic attack because of you. You laughed; she coated your husky laugh with her dulling tones.

"How long, Eddie!?" I screeched, trying to find my breath again. "How long have you been shooting that _filth_ into your veins?"

You laughed again, but all I heard was _her_.

"Edward! Tell me!" I was seething. The look you gave me pierced. If my heart hadn't already ceased to beat, the arrow of a look would have killed me.

"_Don't_ call me that." Your voice shook. "Don't ever call me that…" You sounded defeated. You knew this was the end of us. You killed us with her vile, poisonous high. The worst part was, was that you _knew_ what you were doing. You had been _clean_. You _chose_ this. I hated you, then. Love all but died.

"I can't do this Eddie." With my hand on my chest over the dead thing lying beneath my ribs, I turned from you, walking away.

"Bella, please," you whispered, hanging your head. You were too high to get up and follow me from your bathroom to the bedroom. Spinning on my heels, I returned to your side. I was an addict too. You were the worst drug. I had been clean and I _chose_ this.

"Get treatment, Eddie… please," I softly pleaded, untying the tourniquet from your arm. I capped the needle and eyed the dipped-into balloon of dope on the counter haphazardly thrown next to the lighter and the spoon that held a piece of cotton, brown and burnt. "You need help."

Tears were steadily falling from the edges of your forest green eyes—darkened by her—and your pupils were too wide, eyes nearly black. As she swam through you, clouding thoughts and feelings, you fought to find the right words to say. I saw your struggle, but I felt so numb. I couldn't bear to touch you.

"I … can't Bella. I'm not strong enough…" Now you sounded as every bit of broken as you truly were.

"Yes you are. I can help you… only if you agree to help yourself." I hoped against hope and prayed against prayer to a god I didn't believe in that you would accept my help...

Quietly, you thought it through. Coughing, you looked into my eyes again. I knew your decision before you said it aloud. There is a reason why I don't believe in god.

"Bella I can't," you whispered in resignation. It was eerily similar to what you had said when you left me a year before, only this time it was even more stabbing.

"Please, Eddie. Please. I love you. Don't you love me? Why can't you see that this is _ruining_ your life?!" I begged. You said nothing. Watching you struggle to keep your eyes open cemented my decision.

"Eddie, I can't watch you kill yourself with heroin. Just so you realize, know that _you_ are choosing her over me. _You_ are the one leaving me for that bitch, that dope you can't break up with. I may be physically leaving you right now, but you're the one who left me for _her_." In a flash, I grabbed the balloon of heroin and flushed it down the toilet before your too-high limbs could contemplate moving to stop me. I turned again walking back to the bedroom. This time I did not come back at the sound of your crying pleas. I packed my shit and got a cab to the airport, mourning your imminent death all the way, and the death of the other half of my soul—the one I gave you for safe-keeping. I hated you, and missed you, and loved you. It was excruciating. Loving you was excruciating, but I would rather die with the exquisite pain of loving and leaving you, than live as your enabler.

I called Alice, sobbing to her the whole way to the airport. She told me I was doing the right thing, but I still felt like I was dying. And in truth, a part of me was. The part of me that held you died that day on the bathroom floor. And there it remained, leaning against the tub with a sad-fucking-smirk and heroin huge irises. I was so angry with you, and yet so sad. I couldn't leave you without trying to help you in some way, so the last person I called before boarding my plane was your mother.

I'm sorry that I called her. I'm sorry I hadn't called her sooner. I'm just so sorry.

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**A/N: So, how are we feeling? What are we thinking? **

**See you kiddies tomorrow! **

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	6. Chapter 5: Sole Mates and Rehab

**Disclaimer:** The usual.

**Hi there! Thanks for stopping by again.  
****I present: Chapter 5, as promised!**

**Special thanks to Sunflowerfran for beta-ing this chapter!**

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Chapter 5: Soul Mates and Rehab

Alice allowed me five weeks of mourning the death of us before staging an Al-intervention. Literally, that's what she called it. It essentially consisted of ripping several shots before going to the club to dance and pick up guys. I wouldn't call it the healthiest way of dealing with my very emotional issue with an addict, but it did take my mind off of things—even if just for a night. You would have been seething red with jealousy because of the guys with which we were dancing. The thought of that made me smile the next day, and then curl up into a ball on the couch again.

I killed more than the memory of you that summer. Part of me closed off and went cold.

Somehow I managed to get through the summer and into fall semester. You left me countless voicemails, texts, and—when desperate—Facebook messages. With Alice's support, I ignored your every attempt at communication. I didn't know what you did for the next few years, and frankly, I didn't care.

That's a lie.

I cared. I cared too much. I cared so badly that it hurt to breathe just thinking about you. I wondered if you were dead yet or in jail. Every moment was filled with thoughts of you. Slowly it became only every other moment, and eventually it became a tolerable, ignorable, once a week. With every potential new relationship I entered into, I wondered if he would leave me too, and I set them all up to fail with my trust issues; My Eddie-Issues.

Eventually, I grew out of that post-Eddie phase too.

I was beyond ecstatic when I was accepted into Northwestern University's Medical School through Rush. It was everything I dreamed of accomplishing. I thought of telling you—only a little. Then I shoved that passing thought way down deep with other the other errant thoughts of you.

Twenty-two and a first year med-student, I thought that I had finally outgrown you. My mother echoed my sentiments, and thought I would meet my future husband in medical school. A year later, in my second year, I had put all thoughts of romance out of my mind. My focus was my studies. I had goals, and they took up all of my free time.

One random Tuesday in October, I received a call from Emmett. He told me that you were back in Chicago and that I should give you a call. Naturally, I refused and asked why. He laughed and said that I should just trust him. Well, I had never trusted him so I pressed the issue. Giving into me, he told me that you had finally gone to rehab again and this time it was going to stick. He said that if you contacted me, I should agree to see you. Did you put him up to that? Or, did he instinctively know that you needed me? I haven't thought to ask him that myself.

A week later, you called.

Twice.

On the second call, I answered.

"Hi Bella," you breathed into the phone. I could hear the wide grin in your voice.

"Hi Eddie," I answered with my own smile in return, and hated myself for how easily my face conjured it. Traitor.

"I'm so glad you answered. You have no idea how amazing it is to hear your voice," you told me. I could hear the sincerity. I also heard something else, or the lack thereof. Ears straining; I was searching your tones for _her_. Your voice was free of her dulling effects, and I smiled even larger.

"Me too."

"Stop me if this is inappropriate, but I miss you," you hedged.

"Yea, I … I miss you too," I admitted. _I missed you with every cell in my body. Hearing your voice had woken the exquisite pain again_.

"Can we meet and talk? Grab coffee or something?"

"I don't know Eddie…"

"Please. I promise I'm clean. We have so much to catch up on. Please, Bella?" _You may have been clean, but I was still an addict. You were my only drug. It was true that we had a lot to talk about…_

"Fine, ok." The rest of the night and all through the next day my body hummed with excitement. I could barely sleep. Alice had to still my bouncing knees when we ate our cereal in the morning. When I asked her if I was making a mistake, she told me the mistake would be to never know.

So, I agreed to meet you at the Starbucks by the brown line.

It was raining and humid for October, and many people were huddled inside the shop. I was waiting in line in hopes of getting a caffeine pick-me-up. My stomach knotted itself, and I was all too aware of my thundering pulse. Clearly I hadn't needed the caffeine, but I was craving a dirty chai.

Your proximity had its affects on me.

Through the fogged windows, I saw you crossing the street taking haphazard puffs from the cigarette at your lips, free hand in your pocket rooting around in the change you had accumulated—a tick of yours. You were nervous too. The moment I saw you, suddenly I wasn't anymore.

When you entered the shop, you recognized me immediately. I let you hug me, needing the comfort of your arms again. We both ordered dirty chais and laughed. Laughing with you was like coming up for air; it made me wonder about the next time I'd be suffocating without you. You insisted on paying. We meandered our way through the other patrons and found ourselves in two, oversized, plush armchairs: the perfect conversation spot. I picked at my cup, not wanting to be the one to start… but you were so tense, virtually shaking. I couldn't take your anxiety any longer, so I broke the silence while you were gathering your courage to speak.

"So … I'm in med school now," I offered, hoping a neutral topic would ease us into this thing we were about to do. It brought a genuine smile to your lips and crinkled your verdant greens. You looked so happy to hear it. In an instant, the waves of nerves melted away from you, and your inner sun poked through.

"Yea, I had heard Bella, I'm so proud of you. You're amazing, you know that?" You replied with such enthusiasm and pride. It gave me hope, against my better judgment. "I always knew you would do it… I always knew you were the better one out of us."

"Thanks," I replied, offering a shy smile of my own. Loving you hurt me, but it was all I knew how to do, even in semi-awkward moments like this.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Bella. I know that … when we last saw each other, I was in a really, shitty place and put you in a bad position yourself. I wanted to first apologize for that," You looked so sad, but exuded a strength you hadn't previously possessed.

"Yea, no problem … I mean … it's you. How could I not?" I had admitted. Acknowledging the overwhelming connection between us brought us to a place of comfort, and our conversation flowed freely. Even though it pained you to recall the details, and it was almost impossible to listen to, you told me about almost, every moment since we last parted; every embarrassing detail, and every humiliating failure. Of those, you had many. It hurt to hear your struggles. I wished so badly that I could have helped you and saved you from yourself, but there is a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment in doing it for yourself. You felt that now.

You told me how your mom called you immediately after I left, and she flew out to see you the next day. You had a bitch of a time convincing her I had gone crazy, and she always kept a watchful eye out for you since. After your mom gone, you tried going cold-turkey in hopes of getting me back. After a month of me not answering your attempts at contact, you spiraled down into a pit of despair and dope—though, never quite blaming me for your pitfalls.

You enlightened me of your jail stints, and bouts of being what you called a "productive junkie" and a lazy, worthless junkie. You never cheated on _her_ though … to her you were faithful. You would go through periods of extreme guilt and sense of loss where you would try to cut back, but it never worked.

You were sucked down into her pit. You stopped communicating with everyone, your parents included. They flew-in to see you for a surprise visit and found you passed out on your living room floor, strung out on heroin and thankfully with a pulse.

That filthy whore.

Rushing you to the ER for not the first time, they gave you an ultimatum: financially cutting you off completely, thus forcing you to live with them, or checking into a top-notch rehabilitation center. You chose the latter with a heavy heart, knowing that it had been a long time to come. Your only wish was that you could speak to me about it, but you knew I had wanted nothing to do with you. You rightly assumed I wouldn't talk to you until you had gotten yourself clean.

They checked you into the place in Minnesota, the one where that guy who wrote the fake memoir went –the one with which Oprah got pissed. You detoxed there and started your twelve steps. Then, you had two and a half months clean before you transferred to the facility where you currently at in Lincoln Park. For two weeks you had been participating in a residential program only eight blocks from the apartment I shared with Alice, and neither of us knew. When you asked to meet me for coffee, I had no idea that you were _still_ in rehab. It shocked me, but I was glad you had reached out to me.

Was it fate that brought us back so close together in proximity? I don't know about fate, but I do know that if soul mates existed, we were it. Time after time, separation after separation, we found our ways back to each other. Thankfully, this time we were both in a much better place.

Slowly, forgiveness would come. It would take some time, but would get to a better place and finally be happy.

In my heart, I believe we were meant for each other.

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**A/N: As always, you know I like to know what you think!**

**Just a few chapters left, friends!**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	7. Chapter 6: Rainbows and Fairy Dust

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Twilight_, that belongs to Stephenie Meyers ... But this Eddie, Bella, and story is all mine!

**Alright, pals, the end is nigh!  
****Well, in about a chapter.**

**Thanks for continuing with this little tale.**

**Special thanks are due to SunflowerFran for graciously beta-ing :o).**

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Chapter 6: Rainbows and Fucking-Fairy Dust

After coffee, we needed a neutral place to go and ended up going to the movies. We saw _Argo_. Remember how intense that was? We loved it. It was powerful, keeping us in a suspended state of anxiety, cutting the tension with humor and then throwing us right back into the thrilling plot. It was the closest thing to an adrenaline rush one could get while sitting in the dark for a few hours. Argo-fuck yourself, Eddie, I had teased you. I felt comfortable with you again after spending hours together just being.

When it was over, we went back to my apartment. You loved the place. You said it was the perfect amalgam of Alice and me: mixed colors and eclectic décor. You loved my green tea-pot I had named Steve, as you laughed at my tendency to name inanimate objects.

"Some things never change," you chuckled, running your hand through your hair.

I made us tea and we sat in my kitchen in those old, cream, rose-patterned armchairs I had inherited from my great grandmother. You loved them and said you could picture yourself sitting in them forever. I laughed and blushed because I couldn't get the image out of my mind either. You drew all over my painted-teal chalkboard table with chalk. We chatted like a pair of young twenty-somethings, completely unlike the old-battered souls that we were. It was freeing. We deserved the state of lightness we were experiencing after years of only knowing the heavy.

You headed back to the facility, needing to make curfew, and we promised we'd see each other soon. I sat in the chair you had vacated, tracing the silly chalk-drawings on the table with my finger, and completely in awe that you were suddenly back in my life after three years. And sober to boot.

Alice arrived home an hour later, and I was bursting to tell her. She was happy for you—and for me—and so sad that you had experienced such despair. She and I stayed up late talking and reminiscing the good times from our childhood.

I felt the seas of change ahead of us. It was a fragrant, sweet breeze that blew our way instead of the foul, shit-stink we had always unknowingly thrown ourselves into.

You had a daily schedule at the center, and I was booked with classes, labs, and clinical during the week. You had called me every night before we went to sleep and texted during the day. It was the new pulse of our friendship—beating slow and steady. We saw each other most weekends, going on platonic dates. My favorite was the zoo. We decided to go to the Lincoln Park Zoo on a rainy Saturday morning with Alice. Although it was an outdoor zoo, there were plenty of indoor habitats. You loved the meerkats. We spent way too much time with those diminutive beasts. I have pictures on my phone of you and the little things bonding. The smile on your face is one resembling that of simpler, happier times. I try not to look at those now.

We had agreed at the beginning of this renewed relationship that we would take it slow, as friends. Your sobriety was fragile and—compared to the years of drug abuse—so newly found. Entering into any sexual or romantic relationship could disrupt the tentative balance of being clean that you were able to achieve. There was so much I had yet to tell you—needed to get off my chest—but I knew I had to wait until you were in a more stable place in your life.

You spoke a lot about forgiveness and redemption for yourself. You apologized on the daily, for leaving me—for hurting me—for hurting yourself. Your eyes belied those of an older man, having lived many lives and seen and done too much. We've been through a lot, Eddie, you and me. Together and apart, more than the average kids our age. It's not fair, but it's all we knew. We did a lot of it to ourselves, anyhow.

You worked the program, progressed through your steps. You began to realize that you actually had it good growing up, but the problem started within you—something broke—and snowballed from there. You took responsibility for all the hell you raised and all the damage you caused. In front of my eyes, you became a man, and you softened a bit. It was nice to see the edge taken off.

You lived humbly.

I respected you.

Trust slowly started to grow again between us. Like a phoenix, our love was reborn from the ashes; you were reborn from the ashes. Hope is the most dangerous, destructive emotion, and I threw myself recklessly at it.

You let me visit you at the facility, and actually introduced me to your counselor. Beaming with pride, you introduced me as _the_ Bella—future mother of your children, if you could become the man I deserved to marry. He told me how well you were doing, and I was so, so ridiculously proud of you.

I was invited to attend an open AA meeting with you, and agreed. You held my hand the entire time, and it was the most depressing thing I have ever experienced under circumstances that weren't my own. I've been to my share of support groups, but I was always the member; it was me that had always needed fixing. It was so strange to be the outside supporter. Still, I was proud of you because it took a lot of courage to look your demons in the eye and tell them that they no longer owned you. You had finally broke-up with that bitch heroin, left her high and dry. I was so fucking happy for you, and you started to become the man I always knew you could be, the one I always saw you capable of.

A few weeks later, when you were transferred from the residential program in Lincoln Park to one further north, I took it as a good sign. They wouldn't risk changing up your routine if your recovery wasn't stable enough, if you weren't strong enough to endure that. The only downside was that I got to see you less.

By Thanksgiving, you were released into a sober-living house and able to check out for a few days at a time to spend the holidays at your parents' house. It was such a blessing. Even though we talked daily, I missed you like hell. I visited you once we were both back in the city. The sober house was less strict than either residential facility I had visited you at, but still not without its restrictions—which was necessary and safe.

Time passed, as it tends to.

Christmas came and went. When you were with your family, I was with mine, but my thoughts were only ever with you. You had only been back in my life for just over two months, but already I had forgiven you completely. You only had five months of sobriety. It wasn't a question, though, as to whether or not you would stay sober and would we still be together in the future. No, it was a certainty. I saw our paths together, finally running along the same line, in the identical direction, toward infinity.

I left my parents' house early that holiday weekend, heading back to the city because I missed you too much. Your parents dropped you off at my apartment upon both of our promises that we would have you back at the sober house the next day at eight in the morning.

Once inside my place, you took me in your arms and kissed me fiercely and for the first time since I allowed you back into my life. Do you remember how amazing that moment was? It was first-kiss happy, and you're-my-forever amazing. It was sunshine and butterflies, rainbows and fucking-fairy-dust—that's what you had said, rainbows and fucking-fairy-dust. I laughed until I cried at that one. I loved how deeply and truly we loved. I loved you—so soul-crushingly much. Like I said, you were my drug, and I was always the worst sort of addict.

We didn't go any further that night, but I did let you sleep in my bed. I needed you by my side. I needed the promises of the future, and without my consent, I needed you.

Always.

I became your safe place. I became your hope. I was surely your future.

All we needed now was time. Time spent sober; time to finish medical school; time for you to figure out what you would do with your life: time.

Luckily, it seemed that time was finally on our side.

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**A/N: Well, thoughts?  
I apologize for the past two days of absence... Crazy times .**

**See you soon,**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	8. Chapter 7: Wishes and Fears

**Disclaimer**: The usual.

**Last chapter, friends!**

**Thank you for reading. After this I will immediately post a short epilogue. **

**Special thanks to SunflowerFran for beta'ing again and giving wonderful feedback.  
Also, thank you for being my little fic-pimp! You rock!**

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Chapter 7: Wishes and Fears

Our non-relationship, sort-of-relationship, became official in February. We had put it off as long as we could while trying to stay strong for each other and keep it uncomplicated. Who were we kidding? We would always be at least a little complicated. After all, we were Eddie and Bella.

You had seven months sober, and I had twenty-seven months until I would graduate medical school—but who was counting?

Time, that elusive pixy.

I loved you to the depth of me, and you said that you loved me with ever fiber of your being. Yea, we were probably a little unhealthy with the breadth of our attachment, but how many people are so lucky to love so intensely and be loved the same way in return? Aren't countless songs, novels, movies, poems, ballets, television shows—every sort of storytelling imaginable written about that soul kind of love? We had it, you and me. It was a fire that burned us over and over again: consuming us flesh and all. Finally, we had managed to tame it, tame ourselves.

It deserved to be kept alive.

You had moved back into your parents' home in the suburbs, making it even harder for us to see one another, but it was necessary. It gave you the time and safety to figure out your plans while getting more sober days checked off. At twenty-four, you were doing the opposite of what most people that age were: deciding to live with your parents instead of leaving them. You never did things the way you were supposed to, so why start then?

At the end of April, your parents let you spend the weekend with me.

We made love for the first time in four years. Was it still as good when you weren't high? I was too scared to ask. For me, it was another piece of home falling back to me. To me, your body was just another extension of mine. We fit so perfectly together like puzzle pieces. We had come so far from the broken people we used to be… it was as if we were the poster children in a campaign for having hope, faith, and a hard work ethic.

In the direction we were heading, it looked good—promising. You were enrolled in summer classes at the community college, getting your feet wet. I was more excited for you to start than anyone else, except maybe you. Finally, Eddie, we could breathe easy. On the foundations you built, working your steps, attending meetings; if not every, then every other day, and loving yourself and me, we were free. You had zero desire to use. After all, I was your constant reminder of how bad it was, and how amazing things could be.

One of the side effects of having been an addict for so long was a neglect of your health. Naturally, if you didn't give a shit about yourself enough to be sober at the time, then simple hygiene practices like seeing a dentist, a general practitioner, getting a haircut, etc. was neglected, as well. Your wisdom teeth—without the drug-induced haze you had previously existed under—began to bother you again. Lucky for you, you now had health insurance while under your parents' roof.

They sedated you as normal, took out the pestilent buggers, but didn't give you Vicodin like everyone else—no, those would have royally fucked you in an instant with that addict brain of yours. They gave you something milder for the pain, something they thought was safe. I should have known nothing was safe with you. Especially not my heart.

I left for a vacation in Florida with my mom and sisters after my birthday in mid-May, wary if I should be so far away from you at all. You assured me you were fine. The cravings you were experiencing were only mild. You could handle them. After all, you had nearly a year sober. Deciding to put my faith and trust in you, I left for a week. One week. To this day, I do not know if it was just before, during, or after my trip that you started using again, but use you did. That itch you got was too much to ignore; too powerful to handle.

You had a fucking year under your belt, Eddie. A fucking year!

You started using again.

Once a junkie, always a junkie: you knew where to get your mistress anywhere, even without having prior connections in the white-collar, lush, yuppie community your parents were living in. That fucking whore ruined your life. And mine. She ruined everything. Unsurprisingly, with years of practice, you hid it oh, so well. So well, in fact, that no one knew you were using again until your dad found you in the bathroom, needle in your arm, passed out on the floor.

It was father's day.

You were rushed to the hospital.

Again.

Your parents were a wreck.

Again.

I was a wreck.

Again.

They took x-rays, had you hooked-up on IVs, shocked your heart, did everything they fucking could, but still they couldn't revive you …

Fuck you, Eddie.

Fuck you for dying. Fuck you for being a coward. Fuck you for leaving me, leaving your family, leaving your finally bright future. FUCK YOU. You are a piece of shit, and I hate you.

Guess what, Eddie, I never told you this because I was waiting for a time when you were in a more stable place, when your sobriety wouldn't be affected by dropping this bomb on you, but you died before I could tell you …

A month after I left you in Colorado that summer, I found out I was pregnant. We were only back together for two weeks, but your demon, strung-out sperm managed to knock me up even though I was on the pill. I aborted your baby. It died like I died when my heart died with you. I couldn't bring a child into our fucked up relationship. I couldn't have a baby be born with an addict father and an enabling mother. I know I made the right decision, even though it killed part of my soul because it was a part of you. I practically murdered part of myself and part of you, because you were too selfish to even care about yourself, let alone me or your family, who, by the fucking way, loved the shit out of you.

You arrogant bastard!

I knew that becoming a father wouldn't have cleaned you up. I knew it wouldn't change a damn thing; it would only bring into this world one more person you were sure to disappoint and hurt. That was my reasoning at the time, and fuck it all if I wasn't absolutely right to do it! It makes me sick that even in hindsight, I still think it was what I should have done.

Your sister Elizabeth is so lost without you, too. You remember her, don't you, your ally against your parents? She moved when you moved. She suffered too, you know. Now she is truly alone. I bet you weren't thinking about her as you injected the smack into your veins.

I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry. I'm hurting and upset. I don't hate you; I never could. I so badly want to hate you, but I can't allow myself to. After every time I left you, after every time you chose heroin over me, I thought I was saying goodbye; I thought that was the end. What I didn't realize was that I still held the smallest sliver of hope, and hell of a lot of love for you deep within me. This time, though … it's so different. This time, there is no hope. There is no 'maybe someday'. You took all of the somedays and maybes with you. You killed all potential happiness. You torched my soul and left nothing but ashes and destruction in its wake.

You used to tell me—over and over—that you'd love me until the day you died. Did you die loving me? Did you think of _me_ when you injected _her_ into your veins? You died virtually alone and with _her_. I was with my own father at the time, getting ready to head back into the city. I was going to be seeing you the next day. Did you think of me at all? I thought of you all day, every day.

I still do.

We had plans, remember? Super Mario, a backyard pool, and no smooth jazz. You stole that from us. You took away the white dress and happily-ever-after.

I would have listened to smooth jazz for you.

Have you ever had to experience the same death of someone over and over and over? Well, I have. It's excruciating. It's debilitating sadness and unbearable sorrow. It's life-cut-short and plans-unfound. It is like _Groundhog's Day_: a sick dream happening to me over and over again, and I cannot seem to wake up. It is the _worst_ fucking thing I have ever lived through—including being raped freshman year of college—and it's not the first or only time I experienced this mourning for you … sadly, it is the last. The knowledge of it being the last is … the worst pain I have ever known. Surely, if you knew how badly I would suffer, then you could have tolerated the small amount of pain your wisdom teeth afforded you, right? They should have never given you any painkillers what-so-ever. You should have refused them. Why didn't you? Why did you take them? I should never have left you.

I'm left with so many questions and impossibly few answers.

Selfishly, I sometimes wish I hadn't terminated my pregnancy. At least then I would still have a living breathing piece of you with me always: a part of you to love and nurture; a little Edward of my own, our baby. But I cannot afford to think that way and remain intact even in the slightest. You were the selfish one, and now I have to be strong for the both of us … just as it's always been.

Your death was ruled an accident. It was blamed on a bad batch of heroin, an increasingly common occurrence. Knowing you hadn't tried to off yourself didn't help, but it didn't make it hurt worse. Your death was the worst fear to come to pass for both your parents and myself. When you started down the path of drug and alcohol abuse all those years ago, it was an eventuality that this could happen, not just a possibility. You made it that way.

You always lived hard, lived big. I just wanted you to live happily and healthily.

I saw Emmett again at your wake for the first time in quite a while. You and he had been getting close again over the past year. He wasn't my favorite, so I let you two have guy time. I knew I couldn't be your 'be-all and end all'; that wasn't healthy. I wanted you to have a big support system. What a fucking joke.

Emmett had called me a few days before the wake, just as broken as we all were. You left a big gaping hole in all of us Eddie. I bet you didn't realize that would happen. He was like a brother to you.

At your wake, I was … a mess. I tried to be strong and not to cry. I remembered—knew how much you hated my tears. How many countless tears have I cried over you?

Endless. I will always mourn you.

I waited in the line to pay my respects to your family even though I belonged at your side never leaving the open casket. I was met by your mom first—Elizabeth was outside having a smoke, and your dad was behind Esme talking to others that came to give their condolences. She hugged and held me bone-close tight. We were both a living piece of you to the other. I hugged her back just as fiercely and whispered that you had grown into a good man … and that I would know: I had married you all those years ago. She laughed; I laughed, and then we both cried together before she whispered back _thank you, at least he was loved by a good wife._

Oh, Eddie. Fuck. I don't know what to do anymore. If you were here now, I'd kick and scream, and cry, and yell … anything to keep you clean. I wouldn't stop; I wouldn't leave you again or let you leave me. I'm stronger now; I could have helped! I wouldn't have left. My personal issues are in the past … Why, _why_ goddamnit!? I'll never get an answer from you, I know that. I still can't help but ask.

You were so beautifully tragic.

You were my drug, and I was the worst addict.

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**A/N: Whew! That was tough. What do ya think?**

**Drugs, man. They really fuck you up.  
Thank you so much for reading!**

**Don'thatemeforkillingEdward ...**

**Later today I will post the short epilogue with a longer author's note.**

**Thanks,**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~**


	9. Epilogue: Love, Bella

**Disclaimer: **Yea, yea, yea ... we know, Stephenie Meyer. We know.

**Welcome! This is the end. This is really it.**

**An author's note will be at the end.**

**Thanks SunflowerFran for your help!**

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Epilogue: Love, Bella

I miss you every day. I miss you with every breath, every heartbeat. I miss you when I eat breakfast; I miss you when I brush my teeth; and I miss you when I lay in bed awake all night. I miss your warm smell, and I miss your commanding presence. I miss you in my dreams; I miss you in every waking moment. I miss the way you tasted of cigarettes, dirty chai, and bad decisions long forgotten. I miss the intensity of the green in your eyes that shown brighter when you were happy. I miss your winning smile—the one the reminded me of the all-American boy you used to be. You used to be happiness personified, and you smiled like sunshine. Now, you were death and inconceivable heartache.

Eddie, had you let me, I would have saved you. I would have thrown myself down and risked it all to help you. I would have died for you.

I wish more than anything that I could hate you. Hating you would be a relief. I wish I felt _anything_ but love for you. Loving you is excruciating. Loving you is the worst pain I'll ever know. I will love you until the day I die. I will never regret meeting you; never regret loving you, and never regretting having kissed you that day on the dirt hill. Now, you only exist in my memories and too-maimed-to-mention heart, the one that used to beat solely for you.

I don't believe in god. I don't really believe in much. I'm trying to believe in other people, but it's a work in progress. One thing I am absolutely certain of, Eddie, is that you and I were meant to love each other. We were meant to be together. We are each other's forever. What I do believe is that I will see you again. I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I do know that in eternity and the vast stretches of time, we belong together. I'll be seeing you.

Love,  
Bella.

P.S.

I wrote this letter to you because my therapist recommended it. You've only been gone for four months, and already it seems like a lifetime has passed and yet not a moment at all. I do feel relief "telling" you all these things I kept inside for years like she said I would. I'm sorry I kept any of it from you—especially the part about our baby… I'm sorry you didn't live long enough for us to make another. Your legacy will not be this disease, but it will be the inspiration and drive you've given me to help others that feel so helpless in their addictions, just as you had.

Everyone tells me that I will love again, that you would want it that way. Who the hell says something like that to someone after their life-long friend and soul mate dies after years of a painful and altering drug addiction? Idiots, that's who.

As for my future, Eddie, only time will tell. Maybe I will love again, maybe I won't. I guarantee it will never be with the same intensity as the way I love you. You've branded my spirit, and not even death can sever our ties. I'm not even thinking about that, though. I know I'm young, but that doesn't matter to me. Not anymore. The only thing getting me through this is the thought that I can help others the way I couldn't help you. I can be strong for them in the way I couldn't for you. I won't be blinded by my all-consuming, burning passion for them in the way I was with you. At least you gave me a direction. At least you gave me love and something bigger than myself to live for.

I'm sorry I couldn't save you in time. I'm sorry that you are dead, but you'll never really be dead to me.

I will love you until the day I die, and even after.

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**A/N: Hi friends. Firstly, thank you so, very much for reading!  
****Secondly, thank you SO, VERY much for your reviews. They are truly humbling.  
****Thank you to those who have reached out with support and love and all that!**

**So, if you read my first notes on the prologue/ch.1, then you know (or must have realized because you are clever),  
that this story was inspired by the life of my very good friend. He and I were childhood friends. Chapter 1 (some of chapter 2)? Yea, that was us. All of it.**

**Eddie's struggles were his struggles. Eddie's death was his death. Drug abuse/addiction is not funny. It's not glamorous.  
It's sad. It's disgusting. It KILLS people. **

**My friend and I became friends again when we were adults- I was 23, he was 24. He was in rehab then for his 2nd or 3rd time.  
He told me his struggles, and like Bella, my heart broke over and over again when my friend recounted his journey up until that point.**

**Having reconnected with him again when he was ALREADY an addict, even though I was in love with him as a girl,  
we remained only friends. He did not live long enough after to even THINK about that.**

**If you know anyone that struggles with addiction, or you yourself do, and haven't gotten help: PLEASE DO.**

**I wanted to write something honest and gripping. I wrote this in three days, and if I hadn't been working, I probably would have finished it  
in a day because it had SUCH a hold on me. My friend Jimmy had SUCH a hold on me.**

**If you have any questions, you need only to ask.**

**Thank you again, so very, very much.**

**~FabulousiTyxXx~ **


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